


little things

by thelabours



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 1 (one) dense shirabu to go please, M/M, because they're twins i can't call them Miya they're both Miya, come one come all, crack ships galore, don't actually save yourselves, gratuitous usage of first names, i apologise that is my fault lmao, kind of slow burn, post canon though so i feel like you can cut me some slack there, post-fic exercises not included but should be because it's fucking cheesy as hell, slightly canon divergent because i took liberties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10939467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelabours/pseuds/thelabours
Summary: the little things that make up the happier bits of Kenjirou's and Osamu's lives.





	little things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beewachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beewachan/gifts).



> i wholly blame beewa chan (@hajimeiwaizoomi) for this (i recommend you do too)
> 
> please accept responsibily for this monstrosity
> 
> i also fucking hate miya atsumu and his smug ass face i want to punch him but i also love him look at his bleached hair this boy is the epitome of extra

_i._

The first time Kenjirou sees Osamu, is when he sees Atsumu. At the time, of course, Kenjirou didn’t know it wasn’t Osamu.

First time at Nationals is a prestigious one for Kenjirou. He knows he is the reserve setter but at the same time…he can’t help but feel proud. _He’d made it. He’d made it to Shiratorizawa, to Ushijima, to Nationals_. He sees players from other prefectures and suddenly feels very small and out of his depth, his eyes catching many others fleetingly, gauging his rivals from afar. A hand clasps his shoulder and Semi Eita is ushering him along, saying _no time for weaknesses now, Kenjirou._ He thinks nothing of the number 17 and his team staring at his own.

The first time Osamu sees Kenjirou, is from afar. They have the same jersey number, he notes. _17_. Osamu likes observing every number 17. He supposes it’s a special kind of a bond, to have the same number emblazoned on your chest, whether you know it or not. 

Kenjirou faintly remembers hearing about Inarizaki High but they don’t play them. Shiratorizawa loses in its second round to Nohebi Academy. And Kenjirou doesn’t play, anyway.

Osamu has heard rumours about Shiratorizawa Academy and its super-ace. Trying to catch a glimpse, Osamu peers over his brother’s shoulder to see a familiar number 17 with a bad haircut trailing after the super-ace and his seniors. He stares and stares and stares until Atsumu punches his arm and says, “let’s go ‘Samu, we have one match left. Let’s win this!”

They don’t win. And Osamu doesn’t play, anyway.

 

 _ii._

The next time they meet, or, the first time they meet, is in Kenjirou’s third year. Captain, setter, babysitter, certified smartass sourpuss (Goshiki gets an earful after this), Kenjirou has a bunch of responsibilities to take care of, or else Washijou-san would have his head. 

Which is why he doesn’t appreciate it when he’s looking for Goshiki’s ( _always Goshiki’s_ ) lost identity card (without which the numbskull can’t play in the Day 2 matches), and a shadow looms over his shoulder, blocking out what little light the hallway offers.

“Excuse me, would you mind moving.” Kenjirou has very little patience at the moment, he is tired and worried and hungry and today’s match wasn’t up to mark. They only won by a tiny margin and the libero of the school they played had left a strange nostalgic taste in his mouth. _We won’t lose, Yamagata-san. Not when you and the others are watching._

“I would, except you’re blocking the door.”

Kenjirou straightens up to say otherwise before he notices the boys’ bathroom door right in front of him. Silently, he opens the door for the other boy, who seems familiar…

“Hey, didn’t you have blonde hair?” Kenjirou blames it on nerves and butterflies when he accidentally lets this slip. He’s usually more reserved, more careful around strangers. Especially rivals.

Osamu is taken aback for a second. Does he remember me? And then: _Of course. Of course. Atsumu_. He washes his hands with extra care, rubbing the in-betweens of his fingers.

A beat of silence passes and Kenjirou is ready to apologise before: “No. you must have seen my brother. He’s the setter, you know.”

kenjirou considers the tone. Neutral and guarded, not giving anything away. He knows it all too well.

“Oh. Inarizaki, right? We look forward to playing you.”

“Yeah. Us, too. You’re captain, right? Of Shiratorizawa?” Osamu wipes his hands clean, and turns to face Kenjirou.

Kenjirou stares at the familiar number on the boy’s shirt. Of course. 

He smiles.

“Shirabu Kenjirou.”

Osamu returns both the greeting and the smile.

“Miya Osamu.”

And so, their first meeting ends.

 

_iii._

Later, Goshiki is yelling in delight because _thank you, Shirabu-san, I really had no idea it slipped out of my pocket, where did you find it?_

And that’s how Kawanishi Taichi, vice-captain, knows that his captain has a festering secret. He doesn’t ask, but slips him a piece of candy.

When Kenjirou raises an eyebrow, Kawanishi only shrugs with an air of nonchalance and says, “you deserve it, captain. Meeting new people is hard.”

 

_iv._

Kenjirou _hates_ defeat.

He hates it more than wet socks in the rain, meeting new people, Goshiki Tsutomu, melting ice cream, finals on his birthday, disappointing his seniors, crying in front of people.

He hates that defeat invariably leads to one of the above.

He shakes Osamu’s hand firmly, looking him straight in the eye. “Good game. We wish you luck.” He turns and walks back with his team, an arm around Goshiki, who’s crying openly, back to where their seniors are waiting.

Osamu watches them go with an unreadable expression.

“’Samu! Good game! That last quick was worth it! Did you see the look on the setter’s face? _Priceless_!” Atsumu yells while Suna cackles right alongside him.

Osamu allows himself a smile. Their quick was good, amazing even. But Osamu knows it’s a result of teamwork and without his brother, their quick was nothing.

He cracks his knuckles and says, “let’s win this.”

Atsumu and Suna both beam at him.

 

_v._

Six months later, it’s raining outside and Kenjirou is tired of staring at his economics textbook. He knows the material for their next test but old habits die hard and here he is, at the library, staring blankly at supply and demand graphs.

Kenjirou is bored out of his mind, casually turning pages over, careful not spill his peppermint tea ( _yes_ , peppermint, because it helps him concentrate). He doesn’t want to fall back in his very first term at college. Scholarships were things not to be taken lightly.

He just happens to glance up and the fact that he’s staring at a very familiar person is _pure_ coincidence. 

Osamu was drenched from head to toe and in the air conditioned library, looking around for the librarian to direct him to the physics section. In his search for anything vaguely marked “SCIENCE”, his gaze tumbles over Shirabu’s own. 

They look at each other for a moment, for two, _three_ , it stretches on seemingly infinitely, before the librarian comes by and ushers him away, whisper-scolding him for tracking muddy water into her sacred sanctum.

Osamu almost trips over his own feet, trying to brush his wet fringe from his eyes. He turns around to check if it _really was him._

And to no surprise, it’s him.

And to his surprise, Kenjirou sends a little wave his way.

 

_vi._

“Look, he looks just like you.”

“Shut up, no he doesn’t.”

“Shirabu, he even has the same little frown you have when you realise your accounting sheets aren’t balanced.”

At this, Kenjirou cradles the cat a little closer to his chest and frowns exactly the way Osamu has described it.

Kenjirou and Osamu stare at each other, a pretend battle. Kenjirou looks away first, admitting defeat. At least Osamu hasn’t mentioned the little tuft of fur in front that looks like his fringe. 

Thank goodness for small mercies.

 

 _vii_. 

A year later, Kenjirou and Osamu are _friends._

By luck (or misfortune), Suna and Kawanishi had hit it off a little _too_ well and now Kenjirou, Osamu, and Atsumu find themselves in close proximity at Kenjirou and Kawanishi’s shared dorm room every Saturday evening to watch movies.

As in, Kenjirou and the twins would watch the film (today was Jurassic Park), and Kawanishi and Suna would make out (to the backdrop of a velociraptor screeching).

Atsumu would text his friends (popular jock with blonde hair, it wasn’t surprising he was the local heartthrob) and leave midway to meet up with Terushima and the rest. Osamu and Kenjirou are both indoor people (read: they know what ‘indoor voice’ means and don’t think reading books ‘is for nerds, god, live a little’).

They huddle next to each other and talk shit about their professors, Kawanishi and Suna, the weather, the movie. Everything, really. Osamu may have undermined Kenjirou’s ability to complain about literally every single thing under the sun.

 

 _viii_. 

They sit outside.

It’s a sunny day in an otherwise gloomy month and for that Kenjirou is secretly grateful. Not that he’d say that out loud, not while Osamu is in the vicinity. He has to maintain his dignity.

They’re eating chocolate pudding and suddenly Kenjirou is reminded of Tendou-san, who he hasn’t seen in years and tells Osamu the story of how Tendou-san and Semi-san had gotten together (a longwinded tale including, but not limited to: a mop, cold ramen, a beach ball, a promise, and a party).

But _God_ , does he _miss_ them.

Kenjirou looks fond and nostalgic and three shades of disgusted before a tear suddenly slips down his face.

Osamu, unthinkingly, wipes it away.

They both pretend it never happened, and get up to pay for their puddings, leaving sticky little chocolate red spoons behind.

 

 _ix_. 

Osamu is _distressed._

Once again, it was nearly November 18th and once again, it was his birthday.

More importantly, it was _Atsumu’s_ birthday, too.

Turning 20 wasn’t a huge deal, not after their grand 18th birthday party. But for the first time, they were celebrating their birthdays apart. It hurt Osamu more than he’d like to admit but Atsumu was at winter camp, along with the rest of the undergraduate volleyball players, and Osamu was left here, all alone.

Well, not quite alone. A tap at his door reminds him that the friends he cherishes are here with him. The door opens and Kenjirou struggles to walk in with sufficient dignity while simultaneously managing to not drop the absolutely humongous bouquet of flowers and a cake box.

“Flowers, huh?” Osamu teases, as he helps Kenjirou look for a glass tall enough to put them in.

“Shut up, I haven’t got your gift ready yet.”

They watch ten, maybe twenty episodes of Naruto and drink cheap wine and by the end of the night, Osamu has nearly forgotten the knot in his stomach. They video call Atsumu and it’s almost like nothing has changed, another year added to their collection of memories. Terushima hollers at the top of his voice, counting down the seconds to their birthday and Kawanishi (and Futakuchi, from the other side of the screen) pointedly looks at Kenjirou, who tried to hide the flour stains on his jeans.

The candles are blown and cake goes all around (chocolate for Atsumu, vanilla for Osamu, as always) and the call ends.

Everyone but Kenjirou goes home. _Alone_ isn’t the best way to spend your birthday, and besides, there was still some wine left in the bottle.

(Earlier: “No, Goshiki, I don’t care how much your goddamn tulips cost. I need a dozen delivered in the next hour! Yeah, I’ll pay for your milkshake. Can you hurry up? Thanks. No I'm baking the cake, you don't have to get anything, just get the damn flowers, yeah?”)

 

 _x_. 

Exams are around the corner and Kenjirou, more often than not, finds himself in the library, running calculations in his head, drawing graphs, and memorising long chunks of text. And, surprisingly, helping Atsumu.

Sat opposite him, Osamu is doing much the same except his calculations aren’t about credit accrued to fictitious bank accounts but the distances between fictitious stars and planets.

For the most part, though, he’s looking around the (mostly) silent library. At an odd compendium of armchairs and sofas and desks and tables.

There’s a loveseat in the corner.

“I hate maths,” someone in the library says. They sound close to tears.

Every head nods except for Osamu’s who turns to look at Kenjirou, who looks the very picture of angelic, smiling smugly, solving the last of the calculation Osamu couldn’t figure out for the life of him.

Osamu sighs in fond exasperation. 

_Maths._

 

 _xi_.

Tragedy strikes midway through midterms in their fourth year.

It’s a rainy Tuesday and Kenjirou’s socks are wet. He’s wearing a stuffy tie and holding flowers and running as fast as he can.

He hadn’t believed it when he’d received the call from the hospital and had run down to the flower store immediately, forgetting to carry an umbrella. He’d been in the middle of a mock interview when everything went to _shit_.

In the middle of catching his breath at the bus stop, maybe crying a little, he finds someone holding an umbrella over him.

“You forgot your umbrella.” This wasn’t Kenjirou’s green spotted one which broke last week because he’d lent it to Goshiki.

They wait for the bus together and if Kenjirou’s face is buried in Osamu’s shoulder, they don’t mention it.

(“Tsutomu, you absolute idiot, how did you manage to fall down the stairs? You could have _died_! You were out for, like, eight hours!”

Goshiki looks past Kenjirou at Osamu for some kind of assistance but doesn’t receive anything more than a smile and a shrug.

Kenjirou is still ranting and maybe crying (ok, definitely crying), and he doesn’t stop until Osamu takes him by the shoulder and tells a slightly alarmed Goshiki they’ll come by to visit every day, eat your medicines, Tsutomu-kun, Kenjirou’s just worried about you).

And they do.

 

 _xii_.

Graduation is just around the corner, and Kenjirou and Osamu find themselves doing exactly what they should be doing.

Lounging in the loveseat and trash talking Kenjirou’s statistics professor.

“Hey Kawanshi, Suna, what’s up,” Osamu says, while Kenjirou simply yawns at the latecomers.

“I don’t know about us, but I’m _very_ interested in you two,” Suna says, nudging Kawanishi’s arm.

All at once four pairs of eyes fall on hands held on the loveseat.

After a beat or two: “Anyway, so he didn’t give me the grade I was supposed to get, I’m ready to kill someone. You in?”

Everyone, naturally, is.

They don’t let go of each other.

 

 _xiii_.

A tranquil summer’s day. Vacation. Peace before graduation. A last chance at being a normal kid before the harsh realities of taxes and adulthood and mortgage descends upon them.

Kawanishi is, naturally, relaxing. And trying not to let his allergies get to him. He’s _trying_.

His phone rings and he groans in annoyance. Why does he have friends.

“ _Hey, Taichi_?” 

Kawanishi frowns because Kenjirou should never sound like that, it gives him chills because he sounds like a bleating lamb in a slaughterhouse. As in, he sounds _scared_.

“Yeah, what’s up.”

“Remember last week when we were coming back home and you asked if there was something wrong?” 

Kawanishi wonders why he isn’t going to be surprised at the next sentence out of Kenjirou’s mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Well, there is something wrong, I think I fucked up. Big time.”

“Proceed.”

“Osamu and I were out getting ice cream or whatever and we were holding hands and stuff and it just struck me that it seemed like a date and…”

“…And?” Kawanishi is fairly certain of the event(s) which follow.

“And I mentioned it.”

“…And?”

“Yeah, and I—we—he kissed me. He kissed me OK? He kissed me.” Kenjirou sounds like this is the first time he’s allowed himself to think about it, to say it out loud. Which it probably is. Kawanishi has a bad feeling about this.

“Oh my God, what did you do.”

“I, uh, ran.”

“Goddammit, Kenjirou. What the fuck, you like him. _Why_. Did you. Fucking. Do. That,” Kawanishi hisses, trying to text Suna and ask him _what the hell why didn’t you tell me I thought we were on the same side._

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, I know. I fucked up. What do I do? I’ve tried calling him. He hasn’t picked up. What should I do?”

Kawanishi’s phone goes ping! And he says, “pack your bags, you dense cactus. We’re going to Osaka.”

“I—what?”

“Buy some fucking flowers. And bring my medicines, I don’t think I have enough left. Maybe leave your sass at home,” he tells Kenjirou.

A few hours later, Kawanishi has reached three conclusions.

One: Osamu is a lot more forgiving than he looks.

Two: he now knows what it’s like when two people make out on the same couch they’re sitting on.

Three: he’s allergic to fucking _peonies_. At least Suna loves him enough to keep him company, even if he does have to sit through truly obscene smacking noises. Serves him right, though, he thinks.

_Epilogue._

“I can’t believe you guys are dating.”

“Atsumu, we’ve been dating for four months. We’ve been over this before.” Osamu sighs fondly, his face deadpan. 

“Yeah, but I never thought you’d have enough nerve to kiss him.” Atsumu grins at him smugly.

“At least he didn’t send me an unprecedented dick pic on snapchat.” Osamu’s lips twitch at Kenjirou’s statement. It was true, though. He kind of felt terrible for Keiji.

“To be fair, Shirabu-san, he did send me a message explicitly telling me not to open it.” Akaashi, too, is laying down the burns tonight.

Osamu says a quick prayer for his womb-partner. He’d need it.

He loves it, though, he wouldn’t have this night any other way. He wouldn’t have his life any other way. He squeezes Kenjirou’s hand tightly before he receives a small smile.

He smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> if you, too, hate miya atsumu's smug face, or ship this crack ship now (or just plain hate this)
> 
>  
> 
> hmu on @iceandbrimstone over on the old tumb ((^:


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